Your Healing Touch
Parts 8 & 9
By Amy
Danny sits motionless at the kitchen table, his face staring intently into the screen of my laptop computer. I’m standing across the room, leaned up against the countertop, wondering what must be going through his mind as he reads my words. It’s after midnight now, and in the early minutes of this, my first Saturday at the Santos summer house, I still can’t believe that Danny Santos, a man I’ve known for mere hours, now sits, reading the most personal, intimate details of my life. But the thing that is even more unbelievable to me, is how incredibly comfortable I am with the idea. Sure, I’m nervous about what he’ll think or how he’ll react, but for some reason, I’m not at all afraid of letting him have that kind of knowledge about me.
Danny shifts slightly in his seat as he continues reading, and knowing that he is reading the chapter that I just re-read - the one detailing the moments when I found out that my mother was dead - I close my mind and recall with accuracy the words I wrote months ago.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kris peeled herself off the floor of her parents’ bathroom. The sick feeling of nausea that she had just experienced would be the first of several that would rack her petite body during the days that were to follow, as her every emotion bubbled at the surface. The words alone were enough to make her heart shatter into a million pieces, and Kris could not even begin to fathom how she would feel when the reality of her mother’s absence began to sink in. It was a concept she could not even consider right now.
Intending to go back downstairs to find her father, Kris made her way to the top of the stairs. Once there, she could hear her father’s muffled cries coming from the downstairs living room. Knowing that she could not handle her father’s grief, as well as her own, she turned and headed back down the hallway toward the only comfort she had.
She wrapped herself in her mother’s sweater - the one she had strewn across the bedroom floor only minutes earlier - and crept back to her own bedroom. Pulling the sweater tightly around her torso, she climbed into her bed, and let the darkness of the room overtake her. Mentally and emotionally spent, she allowed the sleep to come, only to be haunted by dreams that mimicked reality.
I can tell that Danny has finished reading by the huge sigh that escapes his throat. He says nothing as he drops his head into his hands and breathes deeply. Fearful that reading it was too much for him, I don’t move, waiting and praying for some kind of response from him.
My prayers are answered when he lifts his face and turns toward me. I’m not sure what I expected, but there are no tears in his eyes, and only a hint of sadness. The expression that pervades his face is one of relief, as he whispers, "You captured it perfectly."
Still standing across the kitchen, as he remains seated in his chair, I reply, "Thank you."
"You really do know," he says softly. "I didn’t think anyone knew, besides me, but you do."
"Yes, I know, Danny," I answer, wanting desperately to go to him, but still glued to my spot against the kitchen counter.
"I know I’m not the only person to ever lose a parent," he goes on. "Hell, this wasn’t even the first time it happened to me."
I wince as I remember that not only did Danny just lose his father, but he lost his mother as well, when he was still a very young boy, when she died from a massive hemorrhage after giving birth to Pilar.
His eyes seek mine and our gazes lock as he continues. "But this was different. Losing my father was different." His voice breaks slightly, and I wonder if this is the first time he’s said those words.
"Of course it was different," I reply quietly. "Your father was your best friend… and my mother was mine."
He nods in agreement as he stands from his chair and makes his way to where I’m standing in two quick strides. My knees nearly buckle underneath me as he places his right hand behind my neck and pulls me to him, gently pressing my face into his chest. His left arm encircles my waist, and I feel his heart thumping wildly against my cheek. I’m at a loss as to what to do with my arms, which dangle loosely at my sides, but finally, I give in to my instincts, and wrap them around his waist, reveling in the feeling of embracing the man who for some strange reason has become more dear to me than anyone since my mother.
"Thank you," he whispers softly, as he presses his lips into my hair and inhales the strawberry scent left by my shampoo.
"For what?" I question, my cheek still warm against his chest.
"For sharing yourself with me," he answers, pulling back slightly to look at me.
Smiling up at him, I say, "It’s no big deal."
Our arms still entangled around one another, he replies, "Yes, it is a big deal. You have no idea how much it means to know that there’s another person who understands what I’m feeling. And you’re not trying to fix things for me… you’re not trying to give me advice. You just understand."
He makes no effort to let go of me, as I respond. "Your sister and your friends mean well when they try to give you advice, but I know what you mean. Sometimes all you want is someone to understand." I think to myself that he has no idea how much I understand his feelings. For years I’ve longed for someone to simply understand me, and now finally, I’ve found him.
"You don’t have to let me read any more of your book, if you don’t want to," he says with a smile.
"I don’t mind," I answer honestly. "If you want to read more of it."
"I’d love to read it, all of it," he replies, still not removing his arms from around my body.
"Tomorrow then?" I ask, mentally preparing myself for the difficult task of saying goodnight to him.
"Tomorrow," he answers, as I half-heartedly attempt to wiggle free from his grasp.
As I step away from him slightly and my arms begin to slide out from behind him, he grabs my left hand and sharply draws my body back to his. My breath all but leaves my body as he lifts my hand to his lips, and places light kisses on the knuckles of each of my fingers.
His mouth still pressed against the skin of my third finger, he whispers, "Thank you again, Michelle."
Knowing that my insides are nearing the boiling point, and that at any moment I’ll say something completely foolish and regret it, I hastily say, "Your welcome," and head toward the hallway.
Looking back at Danny before I turn the corner to head to the bedroom, I say, "I’ll see you in the morning."
He simply nods and smiles, and I hightail it to the bedroom and quickly shut the door behind me, thinking to myself that I need a bathtub full of ice in order to cool down. Despite myself, I can’t help but smile, as I whisper to myself, "Until morning, Danny."
________________________________________________________________________
I’m awakened suddenly from my sleep by something deep within me something quiet and deafening all at once. Outside I hear nothing but silence, and glancing at the clock, I realize that it’s 3:30 a.m. Slowly rising from the bed, I decide to make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Before leaving the bedroom, I quickly pull on a pair of gray knit shorts, my white, over-sized tee shirt hanging nearly to my knees and covering all but an inch of my shorts.
Opening the bedroom door and peering out into the hallway, I notice a faint light coming from the den. Silent as I tread down the hardwood floor, I hear an all to familiar sound and immediately my heart splits open with pain. As quickly and quietly as possible, I round the corner into the den, and my eyes behold what my heart already knew was true. Danny sits alone on the sofa, shoulders rising and falling heavily as he attempts to silence his cries with a pillow.
I’m torn about what I should do next. My head tells me that to make him aware of my presence would be intruding on his private grief, and that I should turn around and go back to bed. On the other hand, my heart tells me that I absolutely must go to him, put my arms around him and somehow absorb his pain. I know my heart is right… after all, I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that Danny is sitting here, hurting so terribly.
With speed that surprises even me, I fly toward the couch and place myself directly beside him. In one quick motion, I wrap my left arm around his shoulder and place my right hand on his neck, pulling his head gently to my chest, much the same way that he did to me earlier. His arms snake around my waist in a gesture that tells me that my presence is not at all unwelcome, and he doesn’t try to hide his tears as I press his face close to me.
“Let it out,” I whisper, quietly rocking our bodies back and forth. “Unload it all.”
“What’s wrong with me?” he sobs, my chest, bare beneath my tee shirt, now wet from his tears.
“Why would you think that something’s wrong with you?” I plead, running my hand through the soft curls on his head.
“Because this is the first time I’ve cried about my father,” he chokes out. “What kind of son am I that I never shed a tear the entire time he was sick and dying? What kind of son doesn’t cry over his father’s grave?”
“People grieve in a million different ways, Danny,” I try to explain. “You’re just now starting to accept the reality of your father’s death. Until now you never let it sink in. You wouldn’t let the pain come. There’s nothing wrong with you Danny, nothing. Now that you’ve let the hurt begin, you’re on your way to healing.”
He looks up at me and my voice breaks at the tear streaks on his cheeks as I go on. “The hurt never goes away completely, but you do heal. You WILL heal. You can go on, Danny. I promise.”
“I don’t know,” he responds, sitting up slightly and wiping tears from his eyes. “I want to believe you, but I just can’t see my way out of this.”
“Then hold on to me,” I say before I realize that the words have left my mouth. “I’ll help you out of it.”
“O.K.,” he says with a nod, as he takes both my hands in is. “Thank you.”
In an attempt to lighten the mood, I say, “You must be exhausted.”
“Sleep is a rare commodity these days,” he replies, grinning slightly.
“Why don’t you try?” I answer. “It might do you good.”
“I’ll try,” he responds. As I stand to leave, he gestures to the tear-soaked circle on my shirt, and says, “Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” I answer. “Now get some sleep.”
With that I make my way back to the bedroom, but before I’m able to shut the door, Danny appears in the doorway. I whirl around and see a semi-composed Danny shoot him a questioning stare.
“I know this is going to sound really stupid,” he begins. “But your arms are the only place I’ve felt safe in a long, long time, and I’m not ready to stop feeling safe yet.”
“What?” I manage to stutter, as my heart practically beats out of my chest.
With an expression that reminds me of a lost little boy, he continues. “Can I stay with you tonight?”
The surprise on my face must be apparent, because he quickly clarifies himself. “I swear this isn’t a come on in and I’m not trying to get in… well… you know,” he stammers. “It’s just that you make me feel hopeful.”
Without another word I climb into the bed and scoot over to the far side. Propping myself up on two large pillows, I lean slightly against the headboard and softly pat the space on the mattress next to me. Danny swiftly slides in next to me, his khaki slacks and bare feet sliding along my legs until I’m no longer sure if I’m doing this to comfort him or please myself. Silently, we wrap our arms around each other, and settle into the most comfortable, peaceful place that I have ever known. It’s now that I decide my motivations for agreeing to this sleeping arrangement are both for him and for me. He may not know it yet, but his presence here is as comforting to me as mine is to him.
